


White Noise

by avellere



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avellere/pseuds/avellere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which time stands still and Ruki needs to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hungryxheart at LJ for the jrock-valentine fic exchange. A huge thanks to [vaguesalvation](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguesalvation) for betaing this.

Ruki hated the hospital. Everything from the needles to the linen was bathed in a pale, translucent white that was almost sickening to look at. It was supposed to make the patients feel calm and at home, to help soothe relatives’ nerves and prevent bottled-up stress and anxiety from exploding outwards, but really, he couldn’t think of a worse place than an infirmary to fail at controlling emotion. The entire place was practically a bomb waiting to go off at any moment. 

However much he loathed the sickbay and its sterile, headache-inducing walls, it was nothing compared to the dread he felt at the thought of going home. Sure, the wallpaper there had more color but the emptiness it contained was unbearable. The chipped mugs sitting on the kitchen table, the dusty calendar marked weeks before now, the bare sheets reeking of tobacco and cologne—all of it held traces of him. All of it was a reminder of the man he shared the apartment with.

The man lying on the bed in front of him, hooked up to various machines to stay alive, unmoving apart from the barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest. Reita.

His eyes roamed over him slowly, artificial-blue irises taking in the stream of wires extending from his body. One hand propped his head upright, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair, while the other picked absentmindedly at the loose threads in the cushion. The backrest dug into his spine and creaked whenever he shifted his weight but it was the only seat in Room 365B. He’d settled into it with a sigh at first, grimacing every which way he moved. As the days passed, the chair became no less uncomfortable, but he grew used to sitting for hours, staring at the bed or wall.

When he’d heard of Reita’s accident and arrived at the emergency room, after he listened to the doctor’s bleak prognosis and finally stepped into the assigned ward, he could do nothing but stare. The male had always been a bit of a daredevil, had pushed himself harder and aimed higher than anyone else in the band, but unlike the others, Ruki also knew him to be sensible. Whatever he did, he knew that he had not only the guts but the resolve to accomplish it. Tossing his bass, jumping off railings, staring down the vocalist during a heated argument—his firm stance and stubborn pride allowed him to endure tough situations relatively unharmed.

Except this time. He had shoved too hard, leaped too high, and now was strapped to an oxygen mask in order to breathe.

The hiss of circulating air filled his hearing, along with the steady beep of the heart monitor. Ruki raised his head to watch the clock tick on the wall above him, his gaze blank and unfocused. It was a rather plain object, made of plastic and glass, the small needle steadily counting the seconds until the end of the day. He didn’t pay much attention to time, he believed it was irrelevant, but found his eyes drawn to the device with every weary glance.

Before, visits had been regular. One by one, the members would drop by to check whether Reita’s condition had improved. If their schedule permitted it, they’d spend a few minutes in his room, murmur some words, grip his hand or stare at his sleeping face, all the while hoping for a reaction. Then they would sigh, rise, and after thanking the nurse, leave. When the company refused to extend their hiatus any longer and demanded they hire a substitute bassist, the entire band had almost decided to cancel their contract then and there. Only Kai’s rational thinking and Ruki’s persistence prevented them from walking out. After several tense meetings and arguments, they were granted until the end of the year to resume their activities, with or without Reita.

December was approaching fast, and with the arrival of a new year, appointments became sparse. The past two weeks saw few visitors in Reita’s ward; work had piled up in their absence and now Aoi was dangerously close to losing his part-time job. Though the income it provided was minuscule to his career as a musician, he doubted the guitarist would be able to find another one so easily after being fired. Job-hunting in Tokyo was difficult, even for famous people.

Everyone was returning to their lives, shifting responsibilities and dropping back into normal routines. The drummer had called Ruki yesterday to remind him about the deadline, it was something that had been on his mind ever since the accident. He’d contemplate the problem sprawled across the couch, flipping idly through the television or looking around the lonely apartment. It was always there, nagging at him once the lights were switched off; he lay wide awake, tossing and turning until the alarm rang and then rose from his bed exhausted.

As much has he wanted to remain here, surrounded by white, no such thing would happen. Life, as hollow and empty and utterly useless as it was (had always been, since the accident), was still life. There were duties to attend to, plans to be made and songs to be composed— and although he knew that anything he created wouldn’t ease the pain, he needed to move on. Reita may have had the patience in him to stay, but Ruki had waited long enough.

His limbs moved of their own accord, lifting his thin frame out of the chair. He approached the bed carefully, footsteps echoing throughout the silence. Time in the hospital had done little to improve Reita’s complexion. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises. Bandages were wound tightly across his forehead, around his arms, beneath the gown covering his body. His breathing was nearly drowned out by the beep of the heart monitor; he had to strain his ears in order to hear it.

His fingers were gentle as they moved, brushing a few stray hairs to the side, sweeping across bloodied knuckles. The warmth he knew was gone. Cold sheets, cold features, cold skin—everything he once had was fading, blending into the room.

Ruki leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and vaguely he wondered if Reita could hear his heart break.

“Bye.”


End file.
